The Story of a Name

I have always loved names. I’ve wanted to change my name since I was small, and I collect lists of names — which is partly an aspect of my multiple personalities. But since I went no-contact with my family of origin, I felt an even greater need to take a new name for myself. A new beginning, which reclaims myself as who I am, not as what others require me to be.

There has been one name I’ve secretly cherished for some years: Story. To a great degree, I am my story — my story is mine, and I no longer let others tell me my own story. I have claimed my story and even begun to share it. And as I’ve written before, I believe that the world is made of stories and dreams. I am Story.

The second largest part in my “system” of personalities has had many names — ones given to her by perpetrators, worn like burdens weighing her down. No longer. She has chosen a Maori word which within it has two common words. The first part means food or sustenance, or also “human action”, when a person is directly related to an action, just as she is directly related to her own choices of action. The second part means life or surviving. Together, her new name is Kaiora, which is a separate word meaning to be awesome, majestic and fierce. It describes her well.

These names mean a lot to us, representing both freedom and magic in our lives from this point on.

I am Story.


One thought on “The Story of a Name

  1. I dig my pen name for the freedom it gives me. In the beginning it was just an identity protection measure, but it’s grown on me and because it’s kind of silly it reminds me to not take myself or life so seriously.

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